Now, almost every expectation was exploded. Since his injury, Mr. Darcy had been undeniably correct and polite to almost everyone and treated the staff of Longbourn with kindness and consideration seldom seen from one of his station. He took the blame for his accident upon himself, at least publicly. Even when addled by laudanum, his outbursts were not directed at the Bennet family and their staff, but in their defense. Mr. Wickham’s story was proven to be a lie. Mr. Darcy had practically thrown his unpleasant and overbearing aunt out of the house. Miss Darcy proved to be sweet, devoted, and painfully shy — not proud at all. The gentleman’s cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, was steadfast in his praise of the man. And most unsettling of all, Mr. Darcy had gallantly risked his health to defend Elizabeth against the unwanted advances and outlandish insinuations of Mr. Collins — for all intents and purposes naming himself the protector of the Bennet family.
Elizabeth was coming to the uncomfortable conclusion that she may have been wrong about Mr. Darcy. For a person who prided herself a careful observer of others, it was a painful supposition. Lizzy knew few who were her superior in understanding though her father and the Gardiners quickly came to mind. She valued Jane’s saintly sweetness and consideration for others, but there were times when Lizzy considered her sister naïve in the ways of the world. Owning much affection but little respect for the rest of her family, she depended upon her own wit and intelligence to guide her through life.
To be so wrong in her opinions when she had been so certain was a hard business with which to wrestle. Every time a small voice in her head said that Mr. Darcy was a good man, her darker feelings reasserted themselves.
No matter his present manners, Mr. Darcy had been silent, grave, and indifferent almost every time they had met publicly. In more private settings such as Netherfield, he impressed her with his arrogance and condescension. Boasting of knowing only a half-dozen truly accomplished woman, indeed! Who were these paragons of womanhood? Certainly nobody Elizabeth had ever met!
Perhaps he meant his sister, her better angels whispered.
Well, yes, maybe — but what of the others? Viscountesses and ladies of fortune, no doubt — the cream of the First Circles of society in London. No wonder Mr. Darcy so despised the people of Hertfordshire. How else was one to explain that he could sit next to poor Mrs. Long for a half-hour without once speaking to her?
That annoying inner voice spoke again. Are you not protesting too much?
No, of course not! In fact, she cared not a whit about the tall, proud man! He had been exceedingly rude to her father. Mr. Darcy acted as if he was the master of Longbourn rather than a guest. What sort of gentleman diminishes his host?
What sort of husband diminishes his wife as my father does?
Elizabeth groaned aloud. This sort of musing only served to increase rather than alleviate her confusion. She vowed to think upon the man no more and instead enjoy what was left of the autumn foliage. She expected that Charlotte would soon be at Longbourn, and they had much to discuss.
* * *
Darcy had just finished his breakfast when an excited Mrs. Hill opened the door. “Oh, sir! Begging your pardon, but there is a wagon outside just come from Town with something for you!”
Darcy had no idea what it could be, but with his injury, he could only wait until Mr. Hill brought in a large wooden object. It was a plain wood chair, straight-backed with arms, not very different from what he had seen in a poor farmer’s house. What made it different was attached to the bottom of the four legs.
“Here it is, sir, although I’ve never seen th’ like before, or the other one too,” the servant said. “There be wheels on the legs.” Indeed, there were four small wheels affixed to each leg.
“It is a wheel-chair,” explained Darcy as Hill placed the chair before him. “Bartholomew, see to the driver.”
“There’s a note too, sir,” said Hill. He handed it over as Mrs. Bennet came into the room.
“Oh, Mr. Darcy! What an ingenious thing — a wheel-chair! Mrs. Golding’s father used one years ago before he died. Consumption — a sad business. I remember the family burning the bedding afterwards.”
Darcy looked up from the note. “It is from Mr. Macmillan, and he mentions two chairs. Where is the other one, Hill?”
He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “That one’s outside, as it’s too big fur th’ house, I’m thinkin’.”
The mystery was solved by Bartholomew. “There is a Bath chair outside, sir. I have paid the driver.”
“A bath chair?” cried Mrs. Bennet. “Why would anyone need a chair to take a bath?”
“Seems a bit too big ta take a bath with, ma’am,” observed Hill.
Darcy somehow prevented the rolling of his eyes. “It is a Bath chair — a rolling chair used in Bath to transport invalids or people affected by gout to take the waters. Help me, Bartholomew.”
At once, the valet grasped Darcy under one arm, and he was joined the next instant by Hill. Together, they maneuvered Darcy into the wheel-chair with only a small gasp from the patient. Once a blanket was draped about Darcy’s shoulders, Bartholomew pushed the chair on its small, rickety wheels towards the still open front door. Outside was a large wheeled contraption made of wicker, shaped like an overgrown slipper. Two large carriage wheels adorned either side of the vehicle, while a smaller third wheel extended from the front, a long rod rising up and back from it.
“Goodness me!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “How does it work?”
“One sits in the chair,” Darcy explained, “and a man pushes it, while the occupant steers it by way of that rod, like a rudder on a boat, only in reverse.”
“How very clever indeed! I should have seen one before, for I always wanted to go to Bath, but Mr. Bennet is not fond of crowds and would not make the trip.”
Darcy had a sudden urge to escape the house and enjoy the outside air. He disregarded the pleas from Mrs. Bennet that it was too cold and had Bartholomew and Hill help him into the Bath chair. He suffered to have Mrs. Bennet stuff additional blankets about his person before ordering Hill to push him towards the rose garden on the side of the house.
Hill parked the chair beside a very thick rosebush, one not yet pruned back for winter. He was in the warm sunshine and still in view of the house. Hill then excused himself to return to his usual chores, alerting the nearby gardener to save an ear for Mr. Darcy.
Darcy looked about and could just make out a set of benches on the other side of the bush. He thought this would be a pleasant spot, especially when the bush was in full bloom, and the blossoms gave up their scent. He wondered whether it was the same fragrance Elizabeth wore.
He chuckled. Would she be surprised to learn that he had paid her such attention as to attempt to guess her choice of rose water? No, not surprised, not her! Flattered yes, but not surprised. She was as sharp as she was beautiful, and his attentions had been too marked.
Darcy settled back into the chair, allowing himself to daydream about roses and Elizabeth.
* * *
Charlotte was good upon her time, and after sharing an affectionate greeting, the two walked about the fading gardens of Longbourn.
“I have news of Meryton,” Charlotte said almost at once. “It is the talk of the village that Mr. Wickham has been arrested. It is said there are debts and claims of honor against his name and that Colonel Forster has turned him over to the magistrate.”
Elizabeth was shocked indeed at such news although less than she would have been prior to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s visit. Still, she could not help but be concerned. “Taken up for debt! This is a serious business indeed! Is there no way Mr. Wickham can settle his accounts?”
“There is no firm estimate as to the amount,” said Charlotte, “but the gossip has it that it is more than his pay could possibly support. I am afraid it is debtor’s prison for him.”
“I will admit that my opinion of the gentleman is not as high as it once was,” Lizzy allowed, “but it pains me that one of my acquaintance
s should have to suffer gaol. It is a terrible place. And what of the merchants! Mr. Wickham shall be punished, but how will they recover their losses?”
Charlotte looked at her friend with a strange expression. “Do you not know?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why Eliza, all of Mr. Wickham’s debts with the merchants of Meryton were bought up by Mr. Bingley, Colonel Fitzwilliam — and your father.”
“My father!” Lizzy cried.
“Indeed. He was seen in the company of the other two gentlemen going into all the establishments in the village on Saturday. My brother says that Colonel Fitzwilliam was the one who spoke with Colonel Forster.”
“I knew nothing of the sort,” Elizabeth said most urgently. “But this means my father holds Mr. Wickham’s debts. He must be the one to bring charges against him!”
“Along with the colonel and Mr. Bingley, yes. I must say that the three of them are very popular with the shopkeepers.”
Elizabeth said nothing as she considered this surprising intelligence. The Bennets, while comfortable, were certainly not rich. Even if the debt was split three ways, her father’s portion would be felt by them all. Was that why he said he planned to practice economy? Why would he involve himself in such matters? Mr. Bennet cared little for what happened in Meryton. Why this sudden interest? Why would he turn his attention to a man who had lied about and cheated Mr. Darcy?
Remembering Miss Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s unease upon learning that Mr. Wickham was residing close to Longbourn and Netherfield, Lizzy began to think that somehow Mr. Darcy colluded in this. Did he demand that Mr. Bennet act to remove a perceived threat against his sister? Mrs. Bennet had said that Mr. Darcy could bring suit against Longbourn for his injuries. Did the man use that to intimidate her father into spending his money so that Wickham would be arrested?
Her silence during this contemplation caught Charlotte’s notice. “Eliza, are you well?”
“I am very well,” was her instant reply, silently promising herself that she needed to speak to her father. “I am all attention.”
“Then, I must thank you for your warnings about Mr. Collins. He came to Sunday dinner yesterday, and I am afraid he had no very kind compliments for your family.”
“I am sorry to hear that, but I understand his anger.”
“Lizzy, you said yesterday that you had news of Mr. Collins. Can you not share it with me now? I must say that his attentions towards me became marked during his visit, and my mother now has the idea that she would like very much to see me as the future mistress of Longbourn.”
Elizabeth grasped her friend’s hands. “You must resist him! He is not the man he seems!”
“Elizabeth, you are frightening me!” Charlotte cried.
The two continued their stroll through the gardens, Elizabeth sharing the events of the last week in a low voice. Charlotte was, of course, surprised and concerned, particularly over Mr. Collins’s very improper threat against the Bennet ladies.
“Goodness! Your warnings are timely indeed! It sounds as though Mr. Collins has not taken his vocation seriously to say such things to you!” The two walked on in meditation on how the character of men often did not match their profession.
Charlotte came to a sudden stop. “Mr. Darcy was very gallant!” she blurted. “He must admire you!”
Elizabeth almost stumbled over a tree root. “What? What did you say?”
“Eliza, did you injure yourself?” Charlotte saw that Elizabeth was very red, even in the November cool. “You should sit down.”
Elizabeth’s flush had nothing to do with her misstep, but she kept that to herself. “There is a bench just down the path near the rose garden.”
Charlotte insisted they go there without delay, and soon the ladies reached their destination. They sat with their backs to the rose bush, looking out towards the field beyond. By now, Elizabeth had recovered enough to answer her friend.
“I must tell you that you are as wrong about Mr. Darcy as you could be. I am but the daughter of the man in whose house he is forced to take up residence. I can mean nothing to him.”
“I think you are wrong,” said the other. “Consider his defense of you. Can there be any reason for his interference but that of the deepest love?”
“No, no, no! That cannot be! Mr. Darcy loves no one but himself!”
“Eliza!” Charlotte cried in disapproval.
But Elizabeth heard nothing. Charlotte’s conjectures were too close by half to Elizabeth’s own internal struggle with the mystery of Fitzwilliam Darcy. She had not the time to work out the meaning of the gentleman’s seemingly conflicting actions, and she wished with all her heart that, until she could come to some resolution about Mr. Darcy, Charlotte would keep her romantic musings to herself. As was her wont when agitated, Elizabeth expressed opinions that were not necessarily her own.
“It is true! Since coming to the neighborhood, Mr. Darcy has been aloof and standoffish. He has spoken to no one outside his own party. And he has been worse since his injury. He has all but taken over Longbourn. The servants are at his beck and call, and he treats them as if they were his own.”
“Elizabeth, surely you exaggerate. Mr. Darcy is a gentleman. Besides, he is in his sick bed. Should not the servants attend him?”
“Of course, they should, and they do,” Elizabeth conceded, “but Mr. Darcy asks no one’s pardon when he gives his orders. He has diminished my father at every turn. My father is master of Longbourn, but Mr. Darcy treats him no better than a servant!
“And the rest of my family! Mr. Darcy has that manservant of his tell my mother and sisters to comport themselves in silence, else they will disturb Mr. Darcy’s precious rest! He has made changes to our dinner menu without so much as a by-your-leave. A servant ordering my family about — it is unsupportable!”
Charlotte attempted to calm her friend. “You know your younger sisters and mother are very boisterous; you have said so yourself many a time. Is it not right to ask for peace and quiet for a bedridden man? And certainly your mother cannot object to providing meals her guests would enjoy?”
“You take an eager interest in Mr. Darcy’s welfare! I wonder whether you do not admire him yourself.”
“Eliza! I will not berate you when you are so impassioned. I will say that, of course, I admire Mr. Darcy as I would any worthy gentleman. His place in the world has earned him some deference.”
Unknowingly, Charlotte had touched upon the very subject that had troubled Elizabeth the past week — the gulf between her family and his.
“This is insensible,” Charlotte continued. “You know it to be insensible.” She smiled. “What was it the Bard said? ‘The lady doth protest too much?’ I believe there is some admiration in your denials.”
Elizabeth was not best pleased that her own conscience and Charlotte voiced the same conjecture about Lizzy’s antipathy for Mr. Darcy. She shot back in defense, “How unfortunate for me that you quote Shakespeare! In my turn, I will say, ‘Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind.’ Remember I was the lady he said was not tempting enough to dance with at the assembly. No, you and I must disagree on this. He thinks as little of me as I do of him. Mr. Darcy has done nothing but impress me with his conceit and selfish disdain for the feelings of others. I assure you that I think very meanly of any gentleman who comes from Derbyshire, whether he wears a blue coat or red!”
“Yes, Mr. Darcy is very handsome in his blue coat,” Charlotte teased.
“Charlotte!”
“Very well, I know there is no turning you when you are so fixed.” Charlotte sighed. “I would only advise you to keep your opinions of the gentleman to yourself. It would not do to insult that man.”
Charlotte’s calm warning did much to soothe Elizabeth’s ruffled feelings. “And I will not refuse such good counsel even though I had already come to the same conclusion. As far as Mr. Darcy is concerned, he shall receive every courtesy no matter how little he shows in return.”
“Very wise,” returned her friend, but Charlotte’s knowing glance told Elizabeth that her companion had not changed her opinion. “I understand from Maria that there is a new calf?”
Thankful for the change of subject, Elizabeth smiled. “Yes, and if you would like to see it, we can go to the barn directly by the path here.”
“Then, by all means, lead on.”
* * *
The gardener was hard at his labors when he was interrupted by a nasally superior voice.
“Here, now!” cried Bartholomew. “I was told you were to attend to Mr. Darcy! Where is he?”
The man remained kneeling, only turning halfway to eye the intruder. “An’ ain’t th’ man himself not twenty yards away by them rose bushes there?” He gestured with a trowel. “Look there — there’s that contraption, an’ him sittin’ in it. I might be gettin’ on in years, but there’s ain’t nothin’ wrong with my ears!”
Bartholomew glared at the gardener, but he was unsuccessful in intimidating the man, who by then had returned to his weeding. With a theatrical humph, the valet walked quickly over to his employer.
“I am sorry the servants here have been so lackadaisical in carrying out their — Oh sir, how pale you are! You must be chilled! You must come inside at once!” Bartholomew pulled the blanket on Mr. Darcy’s lap up around his shoulders. “I will have you warm in no time, Mr. Darcy!” The agitated valet swiftly moved to push the Bath chair to the front of the estate.
A few fallen leaves were on the grass, and the wheels of the chair made a crunching sound as they rolled, which accounted for Bartholomew’s failure to hear a painful sigh from within the vehicle.
Chapter 10
DARCY MADE NOT A sound as Bartholomew and Hill assisted him from the Bath chair and into the house. No grunt of discomfort escaped his lips as he was maneuvered into the wheel-chair. The servants might have thought to congratulate themselves on their care, but they would be wrong. Darcy was uncomfortable; the manhandling caused him pain, and a headache was descending upon him. Another man at least would have whimpered.
Mr. Darcy Came to Dinner Page 12